


Fond memories of terrible places

by Kangoo



Category: Far Cry 3, Far Cry 4
Genre: Bonding over trauma, Gen, Implied/Referenced Relationship(s) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:49:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28714554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangoo/pseuds/Kangoo
Summary: Jason Brody and Ajay Ghale meet in a seedy bar in a city neither of them remember the name of.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	Fond memories of terrible places

**Author's Note:**

> the one drabble that led me to *waves at all the old pieces ive been posting lately* this
> 
> i have NO memories of every writing this
> 
> jason: same trauma!  
> ajay: same trauma!!

Jason Brody and Ajay Ghale meet in a seedy bar in a city neither of them remember the name of.

They’re both Americans, and they drink together because it’s a sense of familiarity you don’t often get, that far away from home. But there’s something else in their eyes, something hard, something like a distorted reflection in a broken mirror.

The look is familiar but Jason attributes it to the wrong memory, the wrong Brody, to the metallic glint in his brother’s eyes when he talked about the army. He doesn’t remember Grant by much but this and the blood still sticking under his nails, still running hot between his closed fingers on bad nights. Doesn’t remember his own brother as more than a dead soldier.

“You a veteran or something?” He asks, because it’s been months since he let himself look into a mirror, years since the last time he did it while still sober enough to remember it afterwards. He knows he saw this look somewhere before — a soldier laid down in the jungle dust, a handful of guerrilla fighters in the midnight heat? He doesn’t know that it’s his own eyes he sees reflected back to him.

“Or something,” Ajay agrees, because he was a soldier alright, and sometimes a war is a war even when no one wants it to be.

Alcohol and familiarity, born from a same taste of homesickness on the back of their tongue, and soon they find themselves talking about experiences they never expected to be shared.

They talk about hunting, the thrill of lodging an arrow or a bullet through the throat of a beast that would have ripped your heart out of your chest if you’d given it the chance. Soon it feels like they’re not talking about animals anymore.

“I got into hunting but it’s just– It’s not the same, you know?”

Ajay doesn’t ask what he means, because he knows. There’s still a thrum in his veins where he used to feel the jungle, and it harmonizes with the restless _taptaptap_ of Jason’s foot on the floor like the worst kind of melody.

They end up bonding over their similar experiences of being dropped into the wilderness and expected to survive. Expected to kill _._ They bond over developing a taste for it.

(They also bond over their terrible tastes in men.)

“Sometimes I feel like… Like he’s dead but he’s still haunting me. Surviving through me. Asshole kept talking about insanity and now I feel like I’m the one who went insane, dreaming of that damn place and craving it. The blood, the danger–” He sighs, anger bleeding on his face with a show of barred teeth. “I miss it, and I hate it.”

“I miss it too,” Ajay whispers. He’s never said it outloud. Not even to himself. “I miss _him_. He was a crazy, megalomaniac tyran, but fuck, I still miss him.”

Jason raises his glass. “To fond memories of terrible places and worst people,” he toasts.

“May we never find our way back to them,” Ajay continues, and neither of them believe it when they knock their drinks back.

**Author's Note:**

> come haunt me on [tumblr](https://youngster-monster.tumblr.com/)


End file.
